All Chapters of The Rejected Luna's Second Chance: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

Selena’s POVA week has passed. A whole week of holding my breath, of smiling at Sera while my heart pounds, of watching Mary serve tea and praying no one notices the slight difference in the aftertaste. And somehow, impossibly, nothing has gone wrong.No one suspects Mary. No one suspects me. The watchers—whoever they are seem to have retreated into the shadows, or perhaps they're simply waiting, like predators who know their prey will eventually stumble. I've walked these corridors every day, searching faces, trying to feel from my heart as I told Damian to do. But everyone I meet looks normal. Kind, even. The maids smile. The guards nod respectfully. It's almost unnerving, this peace.Sera is healing. That's the miracle in all of this. With the remedy tea replacing the poison, her body is finally fighting back. Color has returned to her cheeks. She more and more alive than yesterday, laughing at some story Gracia told her about Tristan's childhood mischief. She even asked to si

Walter's POV The phone clicks silent in my hand. Mary's trembling voice still echoes in my ears—'please, let me see my daughter’—and I allow myself a small, private smile. She is so wonderfully broken, so perfectly obedient.Fear is a leash that never snaps, and I hold the end of it. Her daughter, little Zeo, is safely tucked away in my private penthouse beyond the compound, guarded by women who owe me debts they can never repay.And Mary doesn't know where. She doesn't know anything except that if she fails, her child dies. It's beautiful, really. The simplicity of it, and I love it so much.I pocket the burner phone and step through the hidden door behind the eastern library, descending the spiral staircase into the underground passage that leads to Arthur's sanctuary. Few know these tunnels exist—they were built during the old wars, escape routes for Alphas long dead. Now they serve a different purpose. They lead t

Walter's POVThe moon hangs low over Ironhold, casting long shadows across my chamber. I stand by the window, naked, the cool night air kissing my skin. Behind me, Aria sleeps peacefully, She must be dreaming of a future that will never exist.‘Fool.’My phone buzzes again in my hand. I answer without speaking."The shipment is ready," the voice on the other end says. Low, gruff, one of my many shadows. "Twelve units. Prime quality. The buyers in the Antipodean territories are waiting.""And the timing?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper."Three days. The eastern pass. Our people will handle the transfer.""Ensure the brands are fresh," I tell him. "The buyers will want proof of origin.""It's already done.""Good. Contact me when it's complete."I end the call and delete the log. The phone goes into the hidden drawer beneath the floorboards, alongside the other burners, the forged documents, the evidence that will soon destroy Gracia.I turn from the window and look at Aria. Still sle

Selena's POVThe journey back to Ironhold is silent, our footsteps muffled by the forest floor, our hearts still racing from what we witnessed at the mill. Damian walks close beside me, his hand occasionally brushing mine, grounding us both in the reality of what we just survived.We slip through the gate just before the first hints of dawn touch the horizon. The pack house is quiet, the corridors empty, and we move like shadows toward our chamber. But as we round the final corner, a figure steps out of the darkness, and my heart nearly stops.Gracia.His arms are crossed, his expression a mix of relief and stern concern. "Where have you been?" he demands, his voice low but sharp. "I've been searching for you both. Guards said you left hours ago."Panic flares in my chest. I open my mouth, but no words come. Damian steps forward, his voice steady despite everything. "We went for a drive and walk. Fresh air. Some quiet time away from the children and the healers."Gracia studies us for

Selena's POV The room is thick with tension as we gather around the small table in Mary's quarters. The phone sits in the center, black and ordinary, yet it might as well be a live grenade for all the danger it represents.Damian stands by the door, his arms crossed, his face carved from stone. Greta sits beside Mary, her weathered hand resting on the maid's trembling fingers. I pace near the window, my heart pounding against my ribs.We've spent the morning coaching Mary. What to say. How to say it. The right balance of fear and desperation to convince the Collector that she's on the verge of breaking. We rehearsed the script a dozen times until the words felt natural on her tongue. She was ready.But now, looking at her face—pale, haunted, her eyes red from tears she hasn't shed yet—I realize that none of this is an act. Mary isn't playing a role. She's living a nightmare, and we're asking her to dive deeper into it."Re